


May 20th

by nbscully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dana Scully, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Femslash, Fingerfucking, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, Pre-X-Files Revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 14:59:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9662336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbscully/pseuds/nbscully
Summary: Your basic hurt/comfort fic, full of William angst. Post MSR-breakup, pre-revival. Slight AU where Monica isn't working for CSM or whatever that ridiculous storyline was that Chris Carter gave her in the revival. Not really sure how she and Scully reconnected but, ya know, suspension of disbelief.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, because there isn't nearly enough Scully/Reyes gayness out there.  
> Any and all feedback is welcome.

“Fuck,” Scully breathed. 

The sharp edge of the kitchen counter dug into Scully’s hipbones, but with Monica’s fingers digging into the backs of her thighs, she couldn’t care less. Monica’s hands traveled upward to the waistband of Scully’s jeans, already unbuttoned. She hooked her fingers beneath the fabric, short fingernails lightly scratching the sensitive skin of Scully’s lower back, and yanked Scully’s pants to the floor.

“Please, Dana.” Monica’s lips brushed Scully’s ear as she spoke. “Tell me that you want this.”

__________

It had been four months since the breakup. Boxes, half-full of clothes and random knick-knacks, littered the spare room of Scully’s apartment. It’s better this way, she had told herself. Mulder’s behavior—the silence, the isolation, the endless hours spent clicking away at his outdated desktop—nothing she said or did could change it. 

“I just don’t understand what you’re trying to accomplish, Mulder,” she had said. “It’s the same thing over and over, the same theories, the same dead ends.” She sat on the arm of the couch and sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples, scolding herself for thinking this conversation would end any differently than it had the past dozen times they’d had it. Her stomach rumbled. She’d inadvertently adopted his sporadic eating habits.

“I don’t understand how you could not understand. This has been our lives, this is what we do, it—“

“It’s what _you_ do, Mulder. I gave that up a long time ago.”

He looked at her, jaw clenched. “I’ve known you for twenty-two years, Scully. Since when have you ever given up on anything?”

Another sigh. _Deep breaths, Dana._ “I can’t do this anymore, Mulder.” She had said it before. In a few days she’d talk herself down, berating herself for pressuring him, for blaming him. She had walked into that office voluntarily, shaken hands with the FBI’s Most Unwanted, entangled herself in a conspiracy she wanted to forget existed.

The air was thick with silence for several seconds. Scully felt its pressure deep in her ears. When he finally spoke, Mulder’s voice was quiet but incisive, “Did you ever stop to think that maybe all of this that I’m doing, all of this endless bullshit I’m putting myself through, could maybe lead us to William someday?”

Scully’s head shot up as she felt the color drain from her face. Thirteen years of guilt flooded her stomach, pushing bile up her throat. “I can’t believe—” she choked. She swallowed thickly. “You have no right to use that against me.” She stood and left the room, roughly wiping a tear from her cheek.

That night, she forgot her hair dryer when she left. 

__________

“Knock knock.”

Scully looked up from her desk. Monica stood in the doorway, dangling a Dunkin Donuts bag from her hand. “Got you a bagel.”

Scully smiled. “You’re a godsend.” She held out her hands as Monica tossed the bag her way. “Why are you here?”

Monica plopped down in the chair across from Scully’s desk. “A suspect in my case was admitted last night. Gunshot wound. Trying to figure out what’s going on. The ordinary, you know.” 

“As I’m sure you remember, my time with the FBI was anything but ordinary,” Scully chuckled. 

Monica’s grin widened. She pushed a strand of dark hair out of her eyes. All these years later and she still wore it around her shoulders. Scully appreciated her consistency. Then Monica tilted her head slightly, her expression shifting to one of concern. “How are you doing?”

Scully rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, Mon.”

“Alright,” Monica replied. Her skepticism made Scully roll her eyes again. Monica quickly readopted her chipper tone, “Are you busy tonight? We could grab dinner.”

Scully sighed, out of self-pity rather than annoyance. “Yeah, I should probably get out. It’s been a little while.” Truth be told, it had been longer than a little while. Scully had done little more with her evenings than go to the gym since the last time Monica had gotten her out of the house nearly a month earlier. 

“Good. I’ll pick you up around seven-ish.” Monica stood, sighing. “And now to go question a murder suspect.”

“Fun fun,” Scully replied flatly.

“See you later.”

“Bye,” Scully called as Monica made her way down the hallway.

__________

Scully groaned quietly as she kicked off her heels, her purse sliding down her arm and thudding as it hit the floor. She padded to her bedroom and grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, tossing them on the bed. She glanced at the clock. She had a little time before Monica arrived.

Scully went to the kitchen, snagging a beer from the fridge. She twisted off the cap and took a long pull from the bottle. She felt content. Dinners with Monica always calmed Scully, made her feel as though she made the right choice in leaving the unremarkable house behind. But it wasn’t just the post-breakup feelings that made Monica’s presence feel so reassuring; Monica had always made her feel that way. Scully owed her more than Monica would ever accept back. Monica had been there through Mulder’s absence, never put off by Scully’s reserved, sometimes combative, behavior. Monica had even managed to make her laugh on occasion. And, of course, there was William…

 _William._ Scully nearly choked on her beer. May 20th. He was fourteen today. How had she forgotten? She slammed the beer on the counter, burying her face in her hands. Her throat burned but she took a shaky breath, refusing to let the tears fall. _It’s fine. You’re fine._

A knock at the door made her jump. “Shit.” She finished her beer and plastered a grin on her face. This wouldn’t ruin her night.

“Hey, come on in!” Scully cringed, knowing the forced enthusiasm in her voice was anything but convincing.

Monica’s forehead crinkled in suspicion. “Are you…” she pursed her lips, giving Scully the up-and-down, “going to dinner in your work clothes? You realize we’re going to that dive around the corner, right?” Scully glanced at Monica’s outfit. Dark skinny jeans, black sweater. Much more suitable than Scully’s silk blouse and constricting skirt.

Scully puffed out a laugh, “Oh yeah, sorry, I got distracted. I’ll change.” _Good going._

When she returned to the living room, Scully found Monica sitting on the couch, her feet curled underneath her, a beer in her hand. Another beer, full and cold, sat on the coffee table.

“Aren’t we leaving?”

Now it was Monica’s turn to roll her eyes. “Clearly there’s something on your mind. Let’s just stay in. We’ll order pizza or something.”

“Really, I’m fine. We can go.”

Monica’s eyes softened. From anyone else, the look would’ve made Scully angry. She didn’t need pity. But Monica had never, would never, pity her. She only cared for her. Monica picked the label on her beer bottle, then looked back up at Scully. Her voice was soft, “I know what today is, Dana.”

Scully’s eyes fell to the floor. Monica patted the empty seat next to her. Scully sat, knowing she’d never win this battle. She was stubborn, but Monica was immoveable. Monica handed her the beer from the table, a small, comforting smile pulling at her lips.

“I’m surprised you remembered,” Scully said. _Because even I forgot._ She wished she were drinking something stronger, wanting a reason for her throat to burn unrelated to her emotional state. 

“I didn’t until after I stopped by the hospital. Then I felt shitty, because I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring it.”

Scully snorted mirthlessly. “Well, you still remembered sooner than I did, then.” She bit her lip, hard. She couldn’t look at Monica. “I can’t believe I forgot,” she whispered. “What kind of mom—”

“Dana.” Monica’s hand shot out, grasping Scully’s own. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

Scully nodded. She lifted her head and tucked her hair behind her ear. Another sigh. It felt like all she did anymore was sigh. “It’s never gotten easier.” Monica removed her hand from Scully’s. Scully wished she hadn’t.

“I know,” Monica said. She took a gulp of her beer. Scully watched her. This wasn’t easy for Monica either. Monica had known William since the moment he was born. She’d known him better than Mulder had. She cared for him. She loved him.

“I never told you what happened with Mulder.”

Monica’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “No, you didn’t.” Scully had never divulged the details of their split, but she knew Monica was curious. No time like the present to revisit painful memories, she supposed. 

“It’s like he just,” Scully shook her head, trying to find the right words, “wasn’t there anymore. He spent every second at that damn computer. He’s never let any of this go.”

“Sounds like him,” Monica said quietly.

“Yeah.” Scully took another drink. “And then one day we fought and he brought up William. He swore he would never hold that against me.” Her eyes burned. “And then he did.” She drained her beer.

Monica knew not to push Scully any further. “I’m so sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She shrugged and changed the subject, “I’m getting another, do you need one?”

“Um, yeah, please.”

Scully stood and made her way to the kitchen. The alcohol was quickly turning her sadness to apathy. She had done her best with Mulder. It was time to wash her hands of it all. She took two more beers from the fridge. Before she could return to the couch, Monica appeared by her side and leaned against the counter.

“I’m really proud of you, you know.” Monica stared at the floor, flexing her toes against the laminate. She looked up into Scully’s eyes and smile tentatively, as if she were afraid that Scully would run away.

Scully chuckled and placed the drinks on the counter, “I’m not sure why.” She smiled back. “But thank you.”

Monica stepped forward and pulled Scully into a hug. Without her heels, Scully had to stand on her tip-toes to place her chin on Monica’s shoulder. Monica’s hair tickled her nose.

They pulled apart but made no moves toward the living room. Monica’s eyes branded Scully’s face, but Scully didn’t look away. It wasn’t apathy, she realized. The alcohol had turned her sadness to recklessness. 

Without warning, Scully stepped forward again, pressing her lips firmly to Monica’s. Her hands cupped either side of Monica’s face as she opened her mouth. Monica’s lips parted in response, her warm breath sending chills down Scully’s back. Monica pushed Scully against the counter, her hands sliding just under the hem of Scully’s worn sweatshirt. Scully ran a hand through Monica’s hair and pulled her head to the side, placing her lips on Monica’s neck. Monica gasped, clutching harder at Scully’s waist. Forget beer; hearing that sound come from Monica’s lips was enough to get Scully drunk. 

“Shirt,” Scully panted. Monica tore the sweatshirt over Scully’s head and tossed it. It landed in the sink as Scully mimicked the action with Monica’s sweater. Their mouths connected again as Scully ran her hands across Monica’s shoulders and down the sides of her breasts. Monica braced herself on the counter, hands on either side of Scully’s hips, and pressed her pelvis to Scully’s, groaning in frustration. Scully slid Monica’s bra strap from her shoulder and pulled the lace— _God, she wears lace_ —cup down. She kissed her way down Monica’s chest, flattening her tongue against Monica’s nipple. She thought of her first girlfriend, the excitement that prattled through her body when she discovered exactly what she could do to a woman’s body.

Scully felt a tug at the front of her jeans, Monica making quick work of the button and zipper. She shoved her hand inside, rubbing Scully over her underwear. She was so wet, the simple cotton fabric of her underwear already soaked through. Scully whimpered, pulling away from Monica’s breast and sliding her tongue inside her mouth once again. That’s when Monica grasped Scully hips and spun her roughly, pinning her against the counter.

Scully gasped at Monica’s words in her ear. God, yes, did she want this. Had wanted it, she realized. Had wanted it even back then, back when their lives were so different.

“Yes,” she panted. “Yes, I want it.”

“Are you sure?” Scully could’ve cried hearing the nervousness in Monica’s voice.

“God, Monica, please just fuck me.” She snaked her hand behind her, nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on the back of Monica’s neck.

In an instant Scully’s panties joined her jeans at the floor and Monica’s fingers were inside her. Scully collapsed onto her elbows, her head spinning. Monica felt so good, so incredibly good. 

“You mean,” Monica panted, never ceasing the rough rhythmic thrusting of her hand, “so much to me.”

“Oh, fuck,” Scully moaned loudly. There was no way she was this close already. Her calves ached, but Monica’s hand was the only thing that mattered. So much sooner than Scully expected, her pussy clenched around Monica’s slim fingers, her orgasm clapping powerfully in her head. She wanted to feel this over and over, until every last ounce of sadness left her for good.

Monica’s hand slowed as she caught her breath, resting her forehead on the back of Scully’s shoulder. Scully gripped Monica’s arm, too sensitive for continued contact, and Monica removed her hand. Scully turned and leaned forward, her lips melding with Monica’s in a slow, deep kiss.

“Dana—” Monica started.

Scully bit her lip, shaking her head. “My turn,” she whispered.

Scully stepped carefully out of her jeans—she’d pick them up in the morning—and grabbed Monica’s hand, pulling her to the bedroom. She removed the rest of Monica’s clothes. She grinned when she saw Monica’s lace panties, perfectly coordinated with her bra. She never pictured Monica as the matching-underwear type.

She pushed Monica onto the bed, and Monica scooted backwards, settling into the pillows. Her eyes shone brightly, sending sparks upward from Scully’s core. Scully reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the floor before climbing onto the bed, hovering over Monica’s body. She latched onto Monica’s neck, her teeth and tongue sure to leave a deep purple mark.

Scully crawled backwards, her breasts brushing the length of Monica’s body, producing a whimper from the back of Monica’s throat. Scully placed light kisses on Monica’s ribs, her hip, the space just below her bellybutton. She leaned back on her heels and pulled Monica’s legs apart. Monica’s cunt glistened, her wetness already coating the creases of her thighs. Scully settled on her stomach, her mouth so close to where she knew Monica needed it. She ran her tongue along the edge of Monica’s pubic hair and Monica puffed out a harsh breath, as if she had been holding it since they first kissed in the kitchen. Scully rested her top lip just above Monica’s clit. Monica’s legs quivered and Scully looked up at her. Her head was thrown back, her chest heaving. Her knuckles were white against Scully’s navy sheets, gripping the fabric as if she might float away.

Scully swiped her tongue through Monica’s wetness and they both moaned. How had she waited so long for this? She bent her head and pushed her face deeper into Monica’s folds, savoring the taste of her. Monica’s hand slid through Scully’s hair, her hips moving of their own accord as she grinded against Scully’s tongue, now assaulting her clit. Scully slid one hand beneath Monica’s ass and moved the other between Monica’s legs. She pushed two fingers into her, rougher than she intended. But Monica only moaned louder. Excitement shot through Scully’s body as she felt Monica’s walls flutter around her fingers. _Please, Mon, come for me._

As though she had heard Scully’s silent plea, Monica panted, “Fuck, Dana. Fuck fuck fuck.” Scully smiled as her tongue continued pushing against Monica’s clit. Monica’s breath caught in her throat and she went rigid, quietly riding out her orgasm. 

Scully lifted herself onto all fours, wiping the sides of her mouth on her upper arms. She climbed upwards and settled her body on Monica’s, resting her head on Monica’s chest, listening to her slowing heartbeat. Monica toyed with the ends of Scully’s hair. They laid together for a few minutes, the silence like a comforting embrace rather than an oppressive force.

“Do you miss him?” There was no jealously in Monica’s voice.

“Yes and no,” Scully replied. They shifted, facing each other on their sides. Scully ran a finger lightly down Monica’s nose, down to the soft skin of her lips.

“Do you think you two could work it out?”

Scully’s brows knitted together. “I don’t know.” Monica nodded sympathetically. “But I don’t think I care to find out.”

The corners of Monica’s mouth turned upwards. Scully laughed quietly and returned the smile.

She felt content.


End file.
